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The Great Hall had never looked this beautiful.
Warm amber lanterns lined the walls, their light swaying in a soft rhythm. Graduation banners shimmered above, ribbons of blue, green, yellow, and red cascading from the enchanted ceiling and spilling colour across the tables below.
Hao stood to the side, watching his peers around him celebrate with their friends and families. He smiled quietly to himself, hearing the sounds of shouts and cheers echoing all around him. He straightened the collar of his Ravenclaw robes for the fifth time, his Head Boy badge glinting sharply against the blue fabric.
He exhaled, letting out a slow sigh. He let his gaze sweep over the hall. Seven years of memories flickered through his mind like the moving portraits on the wall — late-night study sessions, endless patrols through the corridors, watching Quidditch matches under the stormy skies, and exams survived on too little sleep.
And the most important memory, Hanbin.
His dear Hanbin.
Before he could sink any deeper into his thoughts, the doors of the Great Hall creaked open, a voice calling out to him.
“Hyung!”
The spark in Hao’s chest flared instantly. He smiled before he even turned, already knowing who it was.
A hush rippled through the students gathered near the entrance.
Hanbin stood in the doorway, slightly breathless, holding a bouquet of pink carnations and blue roses wrapped neatly with a purple ribbon. It was plain, not enchanted or magical. Just a simple bouquet — chosen with care, sincere in a way that made Hao’s chest ache.
But Hao didn’t care about the flowers at that moment.
Hao could only see Hanbin running towards him as if it pained him to be apart from Hao any second longer. Hao stood rooted to the spot, unable to move a step forward, lost as he stared at Hanbin’s approaching figure.
With a few strides, Hanbin stopped right in front of him, suddenly shy. Hao’s breath caught as their eyes met.
They were bright, soft, and shining brightly as he looked at Hao. As if Hao was the only thing worth looking at.
Hao’s heart skipped a beat. He cursed internally at the fact that a single look from Hanbin could still fluster him after all this time.
“Hi,” Hanbin said softly.
Hao lips tugged up, breaking into an ever wider smile. “Hey.”
Hanbin held out the bouquet. “These are for you. I know it’s nothing big, but… I wanted you to have something from me today.”
Hao took the flowers from him, his fingers brushing against Hanbin’s. “Thank you, Hanbin-ah. They’re perfect.”
“Happy graduation, gege. I love you,” he said, his sincere and warm voice bringing upon a chorus of groans from the students near them.
“For Merlin’s sake, when will these two EVER get a room?”
“Oh hush, just let them be won’t you? They’re so cute… Me when?”
“Just let them have their moment, it’s the last time anyways.”
Hanbin didn’t spare them a single glance, his eyes fixed on Hao, and Hao only.
“You look good, hyung. Like— really good,” Hanbin said under his breath, cheeks flushing.
Hao laughed quietly, relieved he wasn’t the only one still so easily flustered.
“Come here,” he said, tugging Hanbin by the sleeve towards the side of the hall. They slipped behind a tall stone pillar, hidden from the curious eyes.
The noise of the Great Hall faded into a dull murmur. The lantern light softened here, shadows pooling gently along the floor and walls. It felt like only the two of them existed in the world.
Hao stopped first, turning around to face Hanbin.
Hanbin didn’t hesitate, stepping closer to Hao the moment he turned, close enough that Hao could feel the warmth radiating from him. Hanbin took the bouquet from Hao’s hands, setting it carefully to the side, before his hands found their way to the front of Hao’s robes, fingers curling lightly into the fabric.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Hanbin’s gaze dropped to the Head Boy badge pinned to Hao’s chest. He lifted a hand, brushing his thumb over the polished metal with an expression that Hao couldn’t place.
“I still can’t believe it,” Hanbin murmured. “That this is it. That you’re leaving.”
Hao nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
Hanbin swallowed, his grip tightening. “I just keep worrying… that after today, everything’s going to feel different. Going to be different.”
Hao’s chest tightened at Hanbin’s confession. He reached up, resting his hands over Hanbin’s, trying to ground them both.
“Different doesn’t mean bad, you know. It doesn’t have to be,” he said gently.
“I know,” Hanbin replied. “I know that. I just—” he trailed off, biting his lower lip as he looked down.
Hao moved a hand to Hanbin’s chin, lifting it slightly. “Hey, look at me.”
Hanbin lifted his gaze, revealing his glossy eyes.
“Listen to me,” Hao started, his voice low but firm. “You’re not losing me. You never will. Not today, not after.”
Hanbin let out a shaky breath, tipping forward until his forehead rested against Hao’s shoulder, tucking himself into Hao’s neck. His hands slid around Hao’s waist, hugging him tight.
“I’m proud of you,” Hanbin whispered, as if he was scared to speak any louder. “So proud that it hurts.”
Hao closed his eyes, resting his cheek against the top of Hanbin’s head.
“I wouldn’t have made it here without you,” Hao replied, just as soft as Hanbin had spoken.
Hanbin pulled back slightly to look up at him, his face pulled into an expression of disbelief. “Oh please, you 100% would have. That’s not true,” he scoffed.
“It’s true,” Hao insisted softly. “Becuase you reminded me why I was doing all of this in the first place.”
Hanbin’s expression softened then, his thumb brushing lightly over Hao’s waist. “You’re going to do amazing things out there,” he said. “I know it.”
Hao smiled faintly. “You say as if you won’t be right there beside me.”
Hanbin’s lips curved, small but certain. “Nonsense. I always will be.”
The distant sound of applause rose suddenly from the hall, dragging reality back in.
Hao sighed, reluctant. “I should go. They’ll start wondering where I am.”
Hanbin nodded, though he didn’t let go right away.
They lingered close to each other for a moment longer, trying to freeze the moment. Then Hanbin leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Hao’s lips — warm and full of promise.
When they parted, Hanbin rested his forehead against Hao’s.
“Congratulations, gege,” he whispered. “I love you.”
Hao smiled, his heart overflowing with fondness. “I love you too, baobei.”
They stepped out from behind the pillar together, their fingers intertwined. Still wrapped up in each other’s presence even as the world rushed back in around them.
And as Hao walked towards the stage to receive his certifications, bouquet still in hand, he glanced back once more, sending a sweet look towards Hanbin, who was watching him.
As he always did.
For now, the future could wait. Hao knew that they had the summer ahead of them — long, fleeting, and entirely theirs to spend — and he was determined to make the most of every single moment together.
- - -
Hao didn’t ask outright.
He mentioned it casually, over dinner on the night of his graduation, at a quaint restaurant nestled in the far end of Hogsmeade.
“You don’t have to go back right away,” he said, reaching for Hanbin’s hand across the table. “You could… stay with me. For the summer. Only if you wanted to.”
Hanbin froze.
“With you?” he echoed, his eyes wide.
“At my house,” Hao clarified, suddenly aware of how fast his heart was beating. “It’s not as grand as my family’s manor, but it’s my own. It’s peaceful and quiet. I think you would like it.”
Hanbin stared at him for a few seconds before he broke into the brightest smile Hao had ever seen, his eyes shining in delight.
“Are you serious?”
Hao squeezed his hand. “I wouldn’t offer it if I wasn’t. I’ve been thinking about it for the past month, actually. I was afraid you would think it’s too fast.”
“Are you kidding, hyung? I would love to!” Hanbin didn’t hesitate to wave away Hao’s doubts.
And just like that, summer began.
Hao’s home was warm in a way Hogwarts never was.
The small cottage sat tucked gently between clusters of trees, not hidden — but sheltered. Beyond the yard, a narrow creek wound its way past smooth stones, its quiet trickling carrying through the open windows in the afternoons. Sunlight streamed in through tall windows, filling the house with golden rays that shone on old picture frames and trinkets.
The rooms smelled faintly of tea and old wood, the kind of scent that came from years of being lived in. The walls were lined with shelves of books and photographs — childhood moments, family pictures, younger versions of Hao smiling shyly at the camera — pieces of a life Hanbin didn’t know, but was now slowly discovering.
Hanbin wandered through the house on the first day like he was afraid to touch anything, fingers trailing lightly over doorframes, eyes taking everything in.
“This is your house?” he asked softly, looking around in awe.
“Yup. Well, technically, it was my aunt’s house. She lived here for most of her life, but she decided to move away eventually after getting a new job, and left the house to me. So now it’s mine,” Hao explained. “I like coming here. It’s a safe place away from my parents. They would never step foot in this place, they prefer their cold manor too much.”
Hanbin turned to him, something gentle in his expression. “I like this place too.”
Hao realised then, as Hanbin continued exploring the house, that he now liked it more with Hanbin in it.
They ventured to the creek one afternoon when the air was filled with a calm breeze. The sun filtered through the leaves down the path to it, as Hao led the way like he had done a thousand times before.
“I used to come here when I needed to think,” he said, stepping over a crooked stone.
Hanbin followed, carefully mirroring Hao’s steps. The creek was shallow, clear enough to see the pebbles beneath the water, its quiet trickle filling the moments of silence between them.
“It’s so peaceful here,” Hanbin said softly, not wanting to disrupt the calm atmosphere.
Hao smiled. “Told you.”
They sat on the rocks, discarding their shoes behind them, and dipped their feet into the water. Hanbin gasped at the cold temperature, blushing as Hao giggled beside him.
“You get used to it,” Hao said.
They sat like that for a while, listening to the water, the quiet settling around them comfortably.
“I’m glad you brought me here,” Hanbin whispered.
Hao reached over, intertwining his fingers with Hanbin’s before replying. “I just wanted you to see it.”
It was then that Hao knew Hanbin would fit perfectly into his life — even outside of Hogwarts.
They settled into a slow, unhurried routine. Mornings were lazy, spent half-awake at the kitchen table, Hanbin stealing bites from Hao’s plate as Hao nagged him. Afternoons stretched golden, the two of them curled up together on the couch, tangled under fluffy blankets, talking the day away.
“I can’t believe I’m basically nothing now,” Hao sighed out.
“Hey, dont—” Hanbin pushed himself up on one elbow, his eyes wide, shifting Hao’s position. “Excuse me. You graduated top of your year. You were Head Boy. Miles ahead everyone in all your classes. And, most importantly, the Quidditch captain’s boyfriend. That’s a stacked resume, if I do say so myself. You can get any job you want, hyung.”
Hao rolled his eyes at him. “Oh really, is that how it works? I become the great Sung Hanbin’s boyfriend and I’m immediately accepted into the Ministry?”
“That’s how it should work,” Hanbin said, playing along. Then, his voice dropped into a quieter tone. “It is weird not seeing you running around with your Head Boy notebook or fussing about patrols.”
Hao reached up, brushing a stray strand away from Hanbin’s forehead. “It is, isn’t it? But I’m not complaining. I like this better,” he smiled as he pulled Hanbin back down under the blankets.
Sometimes they didn’t have to talk.
Hao would sit with his head resting on Hanbin’s chest while Hanbin read quietly, an arm draped around Hao. It felt domestic in a way that made Hao’s chest ache with the intimacy of the situation.
Other times, they would visit Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade together, their hands brushing as they walked past shop windows, arguing playfully about what treats to buy.
“You always end up picking the weird flavours,” Hao said, watching Hanbin pick up a newly released candy that looked way too neon to be safe for consumption into their basket.
“They’re good,” Hanbin insisted. “You just don’t get it. You have weird taste.”
“Please, I get stressed just watching you eat those.”
Hanbin grinned, paying for the sweets before leading them out of the shop. “You love me either way."
“I do,” Hao replied with ease.
They would sit in the corner of the Three Broomsticks, shoulders pressed together, sharing butterbeer and listening to the low hum of conversation around them. Always wrapped up in their own little world, they would share stories as Hanbin’s thumb traced slow circles against the back of Hao’s hand.
They would take quiet walks through the town, stopping at small cafes every now and then. Sometimes they would see acquaintances from Hogwarts, and they would congratulate Hao on his graduation, oftentimes asking him about his plans for the future.
Hao always answered smoothly. A little vague, but enough to do the trick.
“I have a few options in mind,” he would say.
At night, they laid side by side, the windows ajar to let the cold air in. Hanbin traced lazy patterns on Hao’s waist, his voice softer in the dark.
“What are you going to do?” Hanbin asked him one night.
Hao didn’t answer immediately.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Hopefully something that matters. Something that will make you proud of me.”
Hanbin sighed. “You already do things that matter, hyung. I’m already insanely proud of you.”
Hao turned to face him. “And I am insanely proud of you too.”
They found each other’s lips in the dark, sharing a slow kiss as if they had all the time in the world.
- - -
The owl came on a morning that felt like any other.
Sunlight filtered through the kitchen windows, casting soft shadows across the table as Hanbin brewed tea. Hao sat at the dining table, still half-asleep, chin resting in his palm as he watched Hanbin move around his kitchen like it was home to him.
Hao hoped it was.
“You know,” Hanbin started, placing a cup of tea in front of Hao, “if I end up not returning to Hogwarts for my last year, it’ll be your fault. I don’t want to leave this place.”
Hao smiled, reaching for the cup, “Well I’m willing to accept that responsibility.”
Hanbin laughed, settling down beside Hao with his own cup of tea, when a sudden sound of fluttering wings cut through the calm air.
They both looked up, startled as an owl swooped in through an open window, its feathers ruffling as it landed neatly on the edge of the dining table. It was carefully clutching an envelope with its beak, the Ministry seal stamped boldly on the front with Hao’s name below it.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Hanbin was the first to shake out of their shock. “Hyung,” he said softly. “It’s for you.”
Hao stared at it, his expression conflicted.
He gently pulled at the letter, the owl releasing it with ease. He opened it with careful fingers, almost afraid to see its contents. Hanbin leaned closer, his shoulder brushing against Hao’s as Hao unravelled the parchment inside.
Zhang Hao,
We are pleased to inform you that the Ministry of Magic has taken a keen interest in your academic record and conduct throughout your years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Your exceptional performance in your studies, combined with your demonstrated leadership as Head Boy, has not gone unnoticed. We have received multiple commendations from your professors, mentioning not only your precision in spellwork and duelling, but also your personal qualities, many of which are deemed essential for service within the Ministry.
As such, the Ministry of Magic would like to offer you the position of Junior Auror, commencing at the start of the upcoming term. This role will provide intensive field training under senior Aurors.
Should you wish to accept this offer, please submit your response by owl no later than the end of the summer break.
The Ministry of Magic awaits you.
Beside him, Hanbin sucked in a quiet breath.
As Hao read the letter, his grip on the parchment tightened. When he finally lowered it, Hanbin was staring at it, his eyes shining.
“Hao hyung,” he breathed out, his grin wide. “That’s insane.”
Hao let out a slow exhale. “It’s… a lot to take in.”
“It is,” Hanbin laughed softly, reaching out to caress Hao’s arm, where he was still clutching the letter in a death grip.
“It’s a prestigious Ministry position, one of the highest honours you can get after graduation hyung. And you didn’t even have to apply. They came to you directly, hyung! This is huge!” he said, trying to get Hao excited.
He paused, then added, quieter but just as sincere, “You deserve this so much.”
Hao watched Hanbin’s face closely. His smile was bright, proud — but Hao knew him too well not to notice the way his grip on his arm lingered, his fingers curling a little tighter around Hao’s sleeve, as if he was afraid to let go. The way his eyes flickered away for a second too long, fixed on the letter.
It was subtle, and anyone else would have missed it. But it was Hao. And he was attuned to every thought that went through his boyfriend’s mind.
Hanbin kept nodding as he spoke, his voice steady, already listing reasons why Hao should take the job. Yet beneath the optimism, Hao could sense a quiet heaviness — the kind Hanbin only ever carried when he was trying not to ask for something he wanted for the good of someone else.
Hao thought about the offer. It was everything he had ever dreamed of, everything he was working towards for his whole life. But why now, when he had it right in his hands, was he hesitating?
It would be a whole year. Hanbin’s final year at Hogwarts. And he wouldn’t be there for any of it.
Hao’s chest tightened at the thought.
Hanbin was sitting right beside him, smiling, encouraging him to go, but in his mind, he was already bracing himself for the distance that Hao would be putting in between them.
“I might not take it,” Hao said suddenly, breaking out of his thoughts.
Hanbin blinked, taken aback. “...What?”
“I can decline it,” Hao said, his voice steady but soft. “I don’t want to leave you. We finally have this–,” he gestured around them, “–and I don’t want to give it away.”
Hanbin’s smile faltered.
“Hyung,” he said carefully. “No. You can’t—”
“I can,” Hao interrupted. “It’s just a job. I can always get another one, closer to you, or I can wait a year.”
Hanbin shook his head. “It’s not just a job, hyung. It’s the Ministry, for Merlin’s sake. They don’t send letters like this to just anyone.”
Hao reached for his hand, his thumb brushing over Hanbin’s knuckles. “I know. But I don’t care about that if I have to be away from you.”
Hanbin swallowed, his voice tightening. “But I care.”
Hao paused.
Hanbin took a breath, steadying his thoughts. “You can’t hold yourself back because of me. I won’t let you.”
“I’m not holding myself back,” Hao insisted. “I’m choosing you.”
Hanbin looked up at him sharply. “See, that’s exactly what I mean.”
Silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable.
“I don’t want to be the thing you choose instead of your future,” Hanbin continued, his voice firm now. “I don’t want you to wake up one day and think—” he stopped himself, his jaw tightening as he mulled over the words in his head.
“Think that you threw your future away for someone like me. I don’t want you to regret it. And you’ll end up… hating me,” his last words were a whisper as he trailed off.
Hao felt something twist painfully in his chest. “I would never hate you, Hanbin.”
“You say that now,” Hanbin replied, biting his lip. “But what about later this year? When I’m busy with classes and training and you’re stuck here alone, wondering what you could’ve been doing instead?”
“I wouldn’t be alone,” Hao said quietly. “ I could find something closer to Hogwarts. I could get a temporary job. I’d have you.”
Hanbin scoffed out. “Not like this.”
The words landed with a thud, heavy in Hao’s chest.
Hao moved closer to him. “Hanbin—”
“You’re the most brilliant wizard I have ever met,” Hanbin said suddenly, cutting him off. “You’ve always been. Everyone sees it. Our Professors, the Ministry, even people who barely know you. You deserve this, hyung. And I can’t be the reason you don’t take it.”
Hao looked at Hanbin, who was avoiding any eye contact with him. Hao knew that if Hanbin looked directly at him, Hanbin would waver in his resolve.
“And what if I don’t want it?” Hao asked softly.
Hanbin hesitated, before forcing an answer out of his mouth. “Then I think you’re lying to yourself. To me.”
The words hurt — not because they were cruel, but because Hao knew that Hanbin was only saying them for his sake, not his own.
Hao exhaled slowly, his shoulders slumping as the will to fight drained out of him. “Will you be okay? Without me?”
“It’s just one year,” Hanbin replied quietly. “One year and I’ll come back to you. I’ll join you. I can handle it. ”
“Can you?” Hao asked.
Hanbin didn’t answer right away.
When he finally looked up, his smile was smaller — the kind he put on whenever he was trying to be brave, to show that he was bigger than his emotions.
“I’ll miss you, of course,” he admitted. “I’ll miss you a lot. But I would miss you even more if you stayed behind and started wishing for what could have been.”
Hao closed his eyes briefly, the weight of it settling deep in his chest.
“...Okay. I’ll think about it,” he said at last.
Hanbin nodded, like he had been expecting that answer, the tension leaving his body. “Okay, hyung.”
That night, they lay side by side in bed, still cuddling each other despite the tense morning they shared. Hanbin fell asleep first, his arm wrapped around Hao’s waist.
Hao stayed awake long after Hanbin’s snores started, staring at the ceiling, replaying every word of their discussion.
The next morning, Hao woke before the break of dawn.
He slipped out of bed quietly, padding into the kitchen where the letter still lay folded neatly on the table. He stared at it for a long time, then reached for parchment and a quill.
When Hanbin shuffled in later, eyes bleary and hair ruffled, he tilted his head at Hao, who was already dressed. “You’re up early.”
Hao exhaled, offering a small smile. “I made my decision.”
Hanbin’s breath caught.
“I’ll take it,” Hao said. “The Ministry job.”
Hanbin’s face lit up instantly, relief and pride washing over his features as he rushed forward to envelop him in a crushing hug. “I knew you would,” he murmured. “I know it was a big decision, hyung. I’m so, so, proud of you.”
Hao wrapped his arms around him tightly, holding on a little longer than usual.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Neither of them said the things that were hidden in their minds, too afraid to voice out the sadness they believed the other wouldn’t share.
They told themselves it was only one year. That this was the right choice.
And for now, they believed it.
- - -
Life slowly slipped back into place after the arrival of the letter.
Their days at the cottage returned to its gentle rhythm, as if the argument had never happened. The tension between them eased, replaced by softer touches and quieter smiles. Hanbin cooked while Hao hovered close, pretending to help. Hao talked about his friends that he was planning to meet up with before the break ended, and Hanbin listened to every word attentively like he always did.
They didn’t bring up the letter or the job again. In their minds, the issue was settled.
One afternoon, Hanbin left the house with a grin, his Quidditch broom slung over his shoulder.
“Gyuvin wants to practice before the season starts again,” he said, putting on his shoes. “I’ll be back before dinner, hyung.”
Hao nodded from the doorway, watching him off. “Don’t stay out too late.”
“Okay Head Boy,” Hanbin giggled, leaning in for a goodbye kiss, soft and gentle, before turning and disappearing through the trees.
The house felt quieter now. Hao had gotten used to Hanbin’s presence.
He busied himself with small things — tidying the kitchen, doing the laundry, sweeping the floors. He was halfway through folding Hanbin’s favourite sweater when the sound of wings reached his ears.
He turned, seeing another owl tapping gently against the glass of his window. He walked towards the window, opening it. The owl swooped inside, a rolled-up parchment tied carefully to its leg. The seal caught his eye immediately.
Hogwarts.
“Hm?” he muttered to himself. There was no reason for Hogwarts to be contacting him, all the graduation proceedings had long finished by now.
His breath hitched as he reached for the parchment, untying it from the owl’s leg before unrolling it to read.
Zhang Hao,
Following your recent graduation and in recognition of your exemplary conduct, leadership, and academic excellence in our school, we would like to offer you—
Hao sank slowly into a chair as he continued reading.
They were offering a position as an assistant professor in Defence theory — a temporary role for the upcoming academic year. One of the department’s senior professors had been called away on urgent Ministry business, leaving a gap that Hogwarts needed filled quickly. That would last just for one year.
His hands trembled slightly as he lowered the parchment.
For a long moment, he simply sat there — lost in his thoughts.
Then his gaze drifted to the other letter still resting on the table — his reply to the Ministry, folded neatly, unsent. He hadn’t gotten around to sending it yet.
A disbelieving laugh escaped him before he could stop it. He picked up the Hogwarts letter again, rereading it slowly, carefully — imagining the castle halls, the familiar classrooms, seeing Hanbin.
But Hanbin was so set on him taking the Ministry job. And Hao had already agreed to it. Had already gotten Hanbin’s hopes up.
Just as he was contemplating his options, the sound of footsteps snapped him back to the present. Hao folded the Hogwarts letter quickly, slipping it into the drawer beneath the table just as the front door opened.
“Hyung, I’m back!” Hanbin called out, rushing into the living room. “You would not believe how bad Gyuvin’s aim still is. Oh, he misses you a lot by the way, you need to come with me to meet him one of these—”
He stopped short when he saw Hao, who looked at him with wide eyes for a second, before his flustered expression smoothed into a soft smile.
“Oh, Hanbin. You’re back,” Hao forced out, still a little breathless.
Hanbin narrowed his eyes. “What’s going on?” he asked suspiciously. “Why do you look like that?”
Hao crossed the room, giggling as he reached out to pull him into a tight hug. “Nothing,” he said lightly, his tone completely gentle now. “I just wasn’t expecting you back so early. I missed you.”
Hanbin laughed, his suspicion immediately melting away as he wrapped his arms around Hao. “I was only gone for three hours.”
“Still,” Hao grumbled, nuzzling his face into Hanbin’s neck.
Hanbin chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to Hao’s hair as they remained pressed together. He didn’t notice Hao’s letter to the Ministry still lying on the table, unsent. He didn’t see the hidden Hogwarts letter tucked safely away.
And he certainly didn’t notice the quiet resolve settling into Hao’s eyes as he held him close.
- - -
The last weeks of summer slipped by fast — too fast, Hao thought.
Between the mornings that started tangled together in bed, dipping their feet in the cold creek to wake themselves up; the afternoons spent cooking simple meals side by side; and the evenings that stretched long and golden with the sky painted in soft oranges and purples, time started to blur.
Hao didn’t like this feeling — as if their time together was running out. It was like they were borrowing a few minutes of time from the universe.
So he made his final decision. One that he was sure of.
He sent the owl early one morning while Hanbin was still fast asleep. He stood by the open window, the parchment folded neatly in his hands, the Hogwarts crest stamped at the corner. His acceptance was brief, in a way that was formal, grateful, and carefully worded.
When the owl disappeared into the sky, Hao exhaled slowly, a strange mix of relief and guilt settling in his chest.
The Ministry letter remained where he had hidden it days ago, tucked carefully into the very back of his closet, behind worn-out clothes and a pile of junk that Hanbin had never bothered to look through.
Hao hated the secrecy.
But every time he looked at Hanbin — his Hanbin, all soft and caring and smiling like he had all the time in the world with Hao — he told himself that he was making the right choice.
Just a little longer. Let me keep this a surprise.
Hanbin, meanwhile, had grown more attached to Hao in the days leading up to the end of break.
Hao noticed it in the way Hanbin lingered longer during hugs, in the way his fingers tightened slightly when they walked hand in hand through Hogsmeade, in the way he stared a little too long at Hao when he thought Hao wouldn’t notice.
Turns out Hao wasn’t the only one silently begging time to be kinder, to let these versions of them exist together just a little longer.
Hanbin thought that Hao would be leaving for the Ministry the same day he would be returning to Hogwarts. He thought their goodbye would be clean and final — an entire year about to be spent apart.
One afternoon, they lay sprawled across the couch, a half-finished book forgotten on the table. Hanbin had his head tucked against Hao’s shoulder, absently tracing circles on Hao’s waist.
“You’re going to be so busy,” Hanbin murmured out of the blue.
Hao glanced down at him. “Hmm?”
“At the Ministry,” Hanbin continued, his voice soft. “You won’t even have time to think about me.”
Hao snorted. “That’s impossible.”
Hanbin hummed, unconvinced. Hao tilted his chin gently, forcing him to look up.
“What if you forget about me instead?” Hao teased lightly. “What if you end up finding yourself a new crush at Hogwarts?”
Hanbin shot upright immediately. “...What?!”
“I don’t know,” Hao said innocently, lips twitching. “Maybe someone else that’s more impressive than me. More talented. More handsome. Maybe a new professor.”
Hanbin stared at him like he had lost his mind.
“A professor??” he sputtered out. “Hyung, are you insane?”
“I would never,” Hanbin said quickly, almost offended. “Professor or student, I don’t even look at anyone else. You are literally the only person in my life I need.”
Hao pressed his lips together, laughter bubbling dangerously close to the surface.
“Absolutely not,” Hanbin said firmly, crossing his arms to show his insistence. “Believe me hyung, I would drop out before I fell for a professor.”
Hao finally lost it at that, bursting out into giggles.
“What?” Hanbin asked, narrowing his eyes. “Why are you laughing?”
“No reason,” Hao said quickly, schooling his expression. “It’s just cute how loyal you are to me.”
“Well obviously,” Hanbin said, leaning back into him with a huff. “I’m yours, and only yours.”
Hao wrapped his arms around him, resting his chin on Hanbin’s shoulder, his heart full with love for the man in front of him.
‘Oh Hanbin,’ he thought fondly. ‘You have no idea.’
The days continued like that — warm and slow and full of love.
Soon, summer would end.
Soon, Hanbin would think that he was letting Hao go for a year.
But when the time came, Hao hoped that the surprise would make it all worth it.
- - -
The last morning of summer came gently, almost as if it didn’t want to wake the sleeping lovers.
Hao work to the sound of the creek, rays of sunlight beginning to spill through the gap in the curtains. Hanbin was already awake beside him, watching Hao stir with a fond expression.
“You’re up early,” Hao yawned.
Hanbin hummed. “You were snoring extra loud.”
“Oh please,” Hao scoffed. “You’re used to my snores by now.”
Hanbin smiled at that, but it didn’t reach his eyes, moving to stare up at the ceiling.
Hao turned onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. He watched Hanbin for a moment — the way his long lashes cast soft shadows against his cheeks, the faint crease between his brows that always appeared when he was stressing about something, the unfocused gaze in his eyes.
“Baobei,” Hao murmured, trying to get Hanbin’s attention back on him.
Hanbin turned his head, their eyes meeting.
Silence stretched between them for a moment before Hao reached out, brushing his thumb along Hanbin’s cheek, soft and unhurried. Hanbin leaned into the touch instinctively, eyes fluttering shut.
Then Hanbin leaned in, connecting his lips with Hao’s.
The kiss was deep but fond, conveying the words Hanbin really wanted to say — stay. Hao kissed him back just as deeply, his hands reaching up to curl around Hanbin’s neck, memorising the feel of him like this.
When they finally pulled apart, out of breath, Hanbin rested his forehead against Hao’s.
“I love you, gege,” Hanbin whispered, his breath hot on Hao’s lips.
“I love you too, baobei,” Hao replied, staring into his eyes.
They stayed in bed longer than they usually did, tangled together beneath the sheets as the sun crept higher into the sky. Hanbin’s fingers traced idle patterns along Hao’s arm, as if he was afraid he would forget the shape of him.
But soon, reality had to be acknowledged.
Hanbin sighed, sitting up slowly. “We should get up.”
“Yeah, we should,” Hao agreed, though neither of them moved right away.
Eventually, they forced themselves out of bed, although still unwilling to face what was upcoming. Hanbin took longer than usual in the bathroom, staring at his reflection, trying to compose himself. He packed his clothes carefully, pausing between each outfit like he was trying to stretch what little time he had left. Hao watched from the doorway, his heart heavy with the silence, and of the things that he couldn’t say.
Hanbin knelt to zip his suitcase, hands lingering on the zipper before finally pulling it up. He glanced around the cottage one last time, logging every inch of it into his memory.
Hao reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly to remind him that he was right there as they walked out the front door.
The drive to the station was quiet.
The road wound through trees bathing the car in shifting light. Hao stared out the window, chin resting on his hand, watching the world blur past. Hanbin kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on Hao’s knee, thumb brushing slowly, reassuring circles on it.
When the station finally came into view, Hanbin let out a deep sigh.
“I guess it’s time,” he murmured to himself.
Hao leaned over, pressing a quick kiss to Hanbin’s cheek before sitting back again, staring at his rigid figure.
They stepped out of the car, walking towards the platform hand in hand, their hearts heavy with different feelings.
Hanbin stuck close to Hao once they reached the platform. His hand was anchored to Hao’s waist, his shoulder brushing against Hao’s jacket constantly. He talked more than usual, filling the air with small talk as they watched the rush of other students and families around them.
Hanbin turned to Hao, adjusting his outfit unconsciously.
“You’re going to be so busy at the Ministry,” Hanbin said after a moment, still fussing with Hao’s outfit, smoothing over nothing. “The first day at a new job is always hectic — nothing you can’t handle of course.”
“I’ll be fine, baobei,” Hao laughed.
“And don’t forget to eat all your meals,” Hanbin continued. “I won’t be there to remind you, and you have a tendency to skip them when you’re stressed.”
“I promise I’ll eat well,” Hao said. “I’ll just think of you nagging me.”
Hanbin huffed a laugh out loud. “Good.”
“You have to take care of yourself too, alright? Don’t go crazy during practices, you have a long season ahead of you. And don’t push yourself in your classes again. It’s fine if you’re not at the top of everything. You are enough as you are,” Hao added on his own advice, waving his finger in Hanbin’s face.
“Fine, I’ll try my best,” Hanbin sighed, an adoring smile on his face.
They stared at each other for a while, watching steam rise from the front of the train as more students started to board.
Hanbin stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Hao and pressing his face into his shoulder. He pulled him into a tight and desperate hug, almost as if he was holding onto something that was slipping through his fingers.
“I don’t like this part,” Hanbin admitted quietly.
Hao rested his chin against Hanbin’s shoulder. “I know,” he whispered, loud enough for Hanbin to hear.
They stayed like that for a moment longer, both unwilling to let go.
When they finally pulled apart, Hanbin took a small step back, his hands still latched onto Hao’s waist.
“Good luck on your first day at work, hyung,” Hanbin smiled. “I know you’ll be amazing.”
“Good luck to you,” Hao replied gently. “Your final year. You’re going to do great things. It’ll be your graduation day before you know it.”
Hanbin nodded quickly. “Yeah. I mean— one year, right? It’ll fly by.”
Hao wanted to say something — wanted to tell him so many things, everything he was keeping secret — but the words were stuck in his throat.
“I’ll write you every week— no, scratch that, every day,” Hanbin added quickly. “I’ll send owls with updates on every single detail of my life.”
“And I’ll read every last one,” Hao said, giggling.
“And you have to write me too,” Hanbin said, a slightly vulnerable tone in his voice. “No excuses. Even if you’re busy. You have to remember.”
“Of course I will,” Hao reassured him. “I promise.”
When the first train whistle sounded, Hanbin fell silent. He stared at Hao’s face for a few seconds, almost as if he was searching for something before his eyes dropped to the ground.
“Hyung—,” he started, his voice breaking. “Please don’t forget me.”
Hao’s chest tightened, his heart aching.
He pried apart one of Hanbin’s hands from his waist, pressing a soft kiss to his fingers. “Hanbin,” he said, slight shock in his voice at Hanbin’s vulnerability..
“I know, I know,” Hanbin rushed to defend himself. “It’s dumb. It’s just— I know how busy you’ll be. In the Ministry, with a new job, a new life— without me… And I’ll just be here. Far away from you. I’m scared.”
Hao squeezed his hand, trying his best to ground him with what little time he had left before Hanbin had to board. “How could you ever think I could forget you? You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. I would rather join Voldemort’s army than remove you from my mind.”
Hanbin smiled at that, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes like it usually did.
“I’m going to miss you,” Hanbin whispered. “So fucking much.”
“And I will too,” Hao said, keeping his voice steady. “But you’re going to have a good final year.”
Hanbin’s eyes shined. “You think so, hyung?”
“I know so,” Hao said. “And I’ll be cheering you on, no matter where I’ll be.”
The final whistle sounded, jolting both of them out of their personal bubble.
Hanbin exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, I trust you hyung.”
He leaned in, pressing one last kiss to Hao’s lips, moving his lips against Hao’s like he was trying to memorise the feel and taste of it.
“I love you,” Hanbin breathed out when they broke apart.
“I love you too,” Hao replied. “So much.”
Hanbin stepped back, heading towards the train doors. “I’ll see you in a year, gege,” Hanbin said, trying to force a smile onto his face.
Hao smiled back, calm and certain. “See you soon, baobei,” he whispered, as he watched Hanbin board the train, waving enthusiastically from the window. Hao waved back, his expression composed.
As the train pulled away, Hao noticed how Hanbin’s eyes filled with tears as he looked away, blinking fast, not wanting Hao to notice.
Hao stayed rooted to the ground long after the platform emptied out.
He felt the ache too, of course. He felt the distance, and the hollow space it left.
But underneath it all, he felt a quiet and steady resolve in his heart.
Because he knew that this goodbye wasn’t the end. Hanbin just didn’t know it yet.
- - -
Hogwarts felt wrong without Hao.
Hanbin felt it the moment he stepped off the train.
The platform was loud, full of trunks being pulled along the stone floors, friends shouting out to each other, laughter and screams all around — but it all felt distant to him. All because Hao wasn’t there. He wasn’t leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed, his trusty Head Boy notebook tucked under his arm, he wasn’t fixing Hanbin’s tie while teasing him about his wrinkled robes.
The absence pressed deep into his heart, heavy and unrelenting.
He followed the flow of students towards the carriages with no thoughts in his mind. The carriages waited at the edge of the platform, empty and silent, its reins hanging loose on the invisible Thestrals.
Hanbin climbed into the nearest carriage, the door shutting with a soft click behind him as the carriage started moving, beginning its slow ascent towards the castle.
Normally, Hanbin loved this part. He loved the feeling of riding in the carriage, being pulled up the hill, watching as the grand castle of Hogwarts revealed itself bit by bit, its towers rising against the evening sky, the lanterns along the ground casting the path in a warm light — it always felt like coming home.
But right now, he could barely enjoy it. His mind kept drifting back to Hao at the train station.
The carriage eventually came to a stop at the gates of Hogwarts. Hanbin got out and climbed up the steps past the front doors and into the Great Hall.
Inside the Great Hall, the ceiling shimmered with its usual enchanted sky, countless stars glittering above the floating candles. The first-years lined up nervously at the front, whispering and fidgeting amongst themselves as they waited for the Sorting Ceremony to begin.
Hanbin sat down at the Hufflepuff table, his hands at his sides, staring straight ahead. He glanced down at his cup of water, his reflection staring back at him, his eyes dull and unfocused.
He didn’t even try to pay attention to the ceremony, simply clapping when everyone else did, pushing through the motions with his cloudy mind.
Dinner appeared in a blur of a feast — roast meats, warm and pillowy bread, jugs of gravy, and desserts stacked impossibly high. Normally, he would have been starving after the long journey.
But now he pushed his food around his plate, unable to stomach a single bite.
He nodded when someone was speaking to him, smiled when it was appropriate. His chest felt empty, like something important was missing inside.
Hao should be here, his mind supplied uselessly.
When dinner finally ended, he followed his housemates back to the dorms. The stone corridors echoed with footsteps and chatter, the portraits lining the walls called out greetings to the students as they passed, the familiar scent of old books and wood filled the air.
But none of it reached him.
His dorm room felt colder than he remembered.
He dropped his trunk beside his bed and plopped down onto the mattress, staring into space like Hao would somehow materialise into the air next to him.
He wished that could happen. But it didn’t.
By the time he made it down to the common room later than night, Gyuvin, Matthew, and Yujin were already there waiting for him.
Gyuvin took one look at him and frowned. “Hyung? You look horrible. You okay?”
Hanbin sank onto the soft couch, exhaustion and frustration crashing down all at once. “He sent me off today.”
His friend's expressions softened immediately, all understanding the reason behind Hanbin’s unusual despair.
“He got a job offer,” Hanbin continued, his voice flat. “From the Ministry.”
Matthew’s eyes widened. “The Ministry?”
Hanbin nodded. “Junior Auror. Seems like they really wanted him, considering he didn’t even apply. The owl just arrived one day at his cottage.”
Gyuvin let out a low breath. “That’s… huge.”
“I know. That’s why I convinced him to take it.”
All three of his friends froze.
“...Convinced him?” Yujin echoed, a confused tinge in his voice.
Hanbin stared down at his hands. “He didn’t want to go. So I convinced him to.”
Matthew tilted his head. “What do you mean he didn’t want to go?”
“He said he wanted to reject it,” Hanbin said quietly. “He wanted to be closer to me. He wanted to stay.”
Gyuvin’s voice was careful when he prodded on. “So why didn’t he stay?”
Hanbin’s jaw clenched. “Because I wouldn’t let him.”
Gyuvin frowned. “Is that what Hao hyung wanted though?”
The question landed like a spear into Hanbin’s heart.
“Well,” Hanbin said after a moment, “not exactly. But that’s exactly why I pushed him to take it.”
Yujin stared at him. “That makes no sense, hyung.”
“It does,” Hanbin rushed to insist, gritting his teeth. “Listen, if he ended up staying just because of me and missed a huge opportunity like that, he would regret it. Offers like this don’t come everyday, you know? He’d end up resenting me eventually.”
“Did he tell you that he would?” Matthew asked.
Hanbin shook his head. “Of course not. But I know him.”
“Or,” Matthew said gently, “you just think you do.”
Hanbin flinched.
“I didn’t want him to hate me,” he admitted, the tension leaving his shoulders as he sighed. “I didn’t want to be the reason he held himself back. I don’t want to be this cockblock in his future career.”
Gyuvin groaned and leaned back, dragging a hand down his face. “Hyung. You are such an idiot.”
“Excuse me?” Hanbin exclaimed, looking at Matthew for support.
Matthew sighed in agreement. “Normally I wouldn’t agree but it seems like when it comes to Hao hyung, you kind of are.”
Hanbin scrunched his face, confused. “What? What was I supposed to do?”
“Let him make the choice,” Yujin said with a shrug.
“I did,” Hanbin argued. “I just— pushed him in a certain direction.”
“You basically pressured him,” Matthew countered.
Gyuvin leaned forward, placing a hand on Hanbin’s shoulder. “If Hao hyung wanted to stay and you told him to go because you were scared of being in the way… that’s not selfless. That’s just you deciding for him.”
Hanbin’s chest tightened painfully at his friends’ tough words.
“I just wanted what was best for him,” he whispered.
“What if,” Gyuvin said, “what was best for him was you?”
That thought cracked something open in his mind, like Hanbin was finally realising the gravity of what he had done. He stared at the floor, the buzz of the common room fading into nothing as his mind went haywire. His hands trembled slightly.
“Fuck,” he huffed. “What the fuck did I do?”
Matthew nudged him. “Hey. It’s okay. You did what you thought was best to protect him. I’m sure he understands. And it’s Hao hyung we’re talking about. I’m sure he’ll find some way to be close to you soon.”
Hanbin nodded, his throat tight.
“I just hope,” he whispered, his voice breaking, “that I didn’t make the wrong choice.”
None of his friends answered him, the silence telling him everything.
- - -
Classes started that week. Hogwarts moved on like normal.
But Hanbin couldn’t.
On Monday morning, he woke up before his alarm, the dorm still covered in shadows. For a moment, he reached across the bed, expecting the warmth of another person, but it wasn’t there.
Reality sank in right after.
He lay there longer than he needed to, staring at the ceiling, before forcing himself up and heading for breakfast.
In the Great Hall, the owls arrived right on schedule. It was tradition for students to receive letters from their families and loved ones on the first day of classes — a way of wishing them good luck from afar.
Hanbin watched as the owls circled overhead, their wings slicing through the air. Students laughed, groaned, and waved letters around like trophies, showing off to their friends.
No owl landed near Hanbin, despite the anticipation building in his heart.
‘It’s fine,’ he told himself, fingers tightening around his glass. ‘It’s his first day at work — he needs time to settle in.’
Classes started to blur together after that.
Charms. Transfiguration. Herbology.
Hanbin wrote down notes without anything registering in his mind, muscle memory carrying him through spells that he’d already mastered years ago.
By Tuesday, the quietness started to grow.
There was still no owl in sight.
He left the Great Hall early after breakfast, intending to rush to the owlery to see if there were any missed letters there. Yujin caught him on the way there.
“Hyung?” Yujin said in confusion. “Where are you rushing to? Classes don’t start for another half hour.”
“Just forgot something back at the dorms. Don’t worry about me Yujin-ah. Go have your breakfast,” he insisted, not wanting to worry his dear dongsaeng.
That night, at his desk, he started writing a letter.
Hyung,
Classes started yesterday. It feels so weird without you here.
He stared at the parchment for a long time before folding it up unfinished, sighing. He tucked it away into a drawer.
‘Hyung will write first,’ Hanbin thought. ‘He said he would.’
Wednesday only got heavier.
The castle corridors buzzed with energy — having made it halfway through the first week of the semester — but Hanbin numbly walked through it all like he was barely present.
He caught himself glancing at the places Hao used to be.
The seat by the window in the library where they would study together.
The empty classrooms they would go to practice duelling.
The long hallways they would walk through together to go to class.
And each time, the sting got deeper.
Owls came and went. None of the letters brought in were for him.
‘The Ministry must be brutal,’ Hanbin reasoned with himself. ‘They must be giving him long hours because he’s new. Maybe he’s too tired.’
He imagined Hao coming home late, loosening his tie, collapsing into a chair with that familiar sigh of his, too exhausted to do anything else besides eat and collapse into their bed.
Hanbin clung to that image in his mind like it was real, choosing to believe it was the truth.
Thursday was the worst.
He laughed at Matthew’s jokes, helped Yujin with an essay, and did a round of Quidditch drills with Gyuvin, but it all felt like he was putting on an act. A role that he’d memorised too well.
That night, lying in bed, he finally let himself think of the one thought that he’d been trying to avoid all week.
What if this is how it crumbles apart?
The distance.
The quiet.
The slow, agonising wait.
He rolled onto his side, pressing his face into the pillow, breathing slowly until the tightness in his chest eased.
How on earth he had survived five years in Hogwarts without Hao by his side, he could not fathom. How he had survived life at all without Hao was another mystery. Being with Hao just felt like a puzzle piece in his heart clicking into place, as if he was something Hanbin had been missing his whole life.
And now that he was gone again, he was struggling to learn how to live life without him.
Friday morning came too quickly.
Hanbin dressed on autopilot, tugging his robes on and haphazardly putting on his tie. He looked at his timetable, noting Defence Theory after lunch. He had heard there was a new professor that would be stepping in for the old professor, but he could care less about who it would be.
He barely entertained the thought of anything that wasn’t Hao-related.
As he left the dorms, he tilted his head towards the window, just once, scanning the sky out of habit.
No owls.
He exhaled softly, schooling his expression back into something neutral.
‘He’s busy,’ Hanbin told himself for what felt like the hundredth time that week. ‘He’s just busy. That’s all.’
And with that thought echoing in his head, he headed out for the day — completely unaware that everything he thought was about to unravel.
- - -
Hanbin arrived at Defence Theory early. Not because he wanted to, but because he couldn’t stomach more than a few bites of lunch. The weight in his chest made the Great Hall feel unbearable, so he left early and slipped into the classroom instead.
Hanbin took a seat in the middle without much thought. He dropped his bag at his feet, staring at the desk in front of him, his eyes unfocused. Defence Theory has always been one of his favourite subjects — but right now, it simply felt like another hour he had to survive.
He got lost in his thoughts as more students trickled into class, chairs scraping softly against the stone floors.
Hanbin barely noticed when the door opened again.
He barely registered the whispers that passed through the room — growing sharper with every student adding on their own murmur.
“Is that the new professor?”
“Wait… isn’t that—?”
“No fucking way.”
“Does he know??”
Hanbin’s gaze stayed stubbornly fixed on the desk, quill unmoving between his fingers. Footsteps crossed the room, getting closer to him before stopping right in front of his desk.
Hanbin’s brow furrowed slightly before he could stop himself, a familiar feel to those footsteps filling his heart. He pushed it aside as the figure began to speak.
“Well hello, Hanbinnie.”
The world stopped, the voice hitting him like a spell in his chest.
Hanbin’s head snapped up so fast his neck hurt.
There — standing right in front of his desk — was Zhang Hao.
Robes dressed neatly, sleeves rolled up just enough to show his wrists. Hair styled cleanly, with an expression far too smug for someone who had been haunting every single one of Hanbin’s thoughts the entire week.
Hao smiled at him, and Hanbin forgot how to breathe.
The rest of the room faded away. The murmurs, the shifting chairs, it all dissolved into static in Hanbin’s mind. His brain short-circuited, trying desperately to make sense of what he was seeing. Maybe his week spent sulking and numb had finally gotten to him, and he was so deluded he was hallucinating his boyfriend.
Hao tilted his head, clearly enjoying this far too much for Hanbin’s sake.
“Well?” he drawled lightly. “Aren’t you going to say hi?”
Hanbin stood up. Or rather — he tried to.
His knees locked as he stood, body frozen between flight and giving up on him. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. His hands trembled at his sides.
Hao’s smirk deepened.
“Oh right,” he continued, tapping the desk thoughtfully. “You did tell me you weren’t going to have a crush on any of your professors.”
The room erupted in laughter, delightedly watching the exchange of their fellow seventh-year and a (very) familiar professor.
“So I guess you just hate me now, huh?” Hao sighed dramatically.
Hanbin made a strangled sound, unable to make a word as the laughter and whispers grew louder.
Hanbin didn’t hear any of it. His vision tunneled as his legs finally gave out, stumbling forward.
The room tilted — too fast, too sudden — and his knees buckled beneath him.
Familiar hands caught him by the shoulders before he could fully collapse onto the desk, steadying him just enough to keep him upright. There was a sharp intake of breath somewhere behind him, followed by a chorus of oh my gosh and poorly suppressed giggles.
“Hanbin!” Hao hissed under his breath, his grip tightening. “For Merlin’s sake—”
Hanbin’s hands reached up, fisting into the front of Hao’s robes on instinct. His brain finally caught up.
“You—” Hanbin croaked out, his voice embarrassingly breaking in front of his classmates. “You’re real?”
“I’m right here,” Hao said quietly, his voice dropping, thumb pressing into Hanbin’s shoulder as if grounding him.
For a split second, the world narrowed to just that — Hao’s hands, Hao’s voice, and the steady pressure anchoring him in place.
Then Hao seemed to snap back into place, straightening abruptly.
“Mr Sung,” he said in his best stern professor tone, “please sit down.”
The room lost it.
Someone wolf-whistled. Another person choked on their laughter. A Hufflepuff in the back muttered, “This is better than their whole scene at the Yule Ball last year.”
Hanbin didn’t move, rooted in place.
Hao leaned closer, lips barely moving. “Sit down before you actually faint and I have to explain that to the nurse on my first day.”
That did it.
Hanbin dropped back into his chair, heart pounding so violently he was afraid everyone could hear it. His hands shook as they gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white.
Hao returned back to the front of the class, standing prim and proper like nothing had happened — like he hadn’t just shattered Hanbin’s perception of the entire week in the span of a single minute.
He faced the entire class, composure settling over him with practiced ease.
“While it seems that most of you are already aware of who I am, judging by the reactions I have garnered in the past few minutes, allow me to still introduce myself,” he said.
“I’m Zhang Hao, and I will be your professor for Defence Theory this year while Professor Yuna is away on a special case.”
The words barely registered in Hanbin’s mind.
Hao’s gaze swept over the room once, sharp enough to quiet most of the whispers. When his eyes passed over Hanbin again, something warm and familiar flickered. It was gone just as fast.
“And do not worry,” he added dryly, addressing the class again, “favouritism will not be tolerated.”
The class snickered as Hanbin buried his face in his hands, the reality of his situation setting in.
“We’ll first begin with a review of last year’s defensive theory,” Hao continued smoothly, beginning the lesson. “Stand up. Wands out.”
The scrape of chairs and rustle of robes filled the room.
Hanbin rushed to stand, still shaking. His wand slipped from his fingers and clattered softly onto the floor.
Hao looked around, taking use of the pause as other students retrieved their wands to walk back to Hanbin and pick up his wand from the ground, placing it carefully in front of him. His fingers brushed Hanbin’s knuckles.
“So clumsy,” Hao teased, just loud enough for him to hear.
Hanbin looked up at him, eyes wide and shining, chest tight with a thousand emotions crashing into each other all at once — relief, disbelief, joy, frustration, and love.
“You said…” Hanbin whispered, “you said you were going to the Ministry.”
Hao’s lips curved up. “I said I would think about it.”
Hanbin’s breath hitched.
“Hyung… I thought you left me,” he whispered, eyes pleading for an answer. “You didn’t write. Didn’t send any regards. I thought you were gone.”
For a second, Hao forgot where they were, staring straight into Hanbin’s eyes.
His grip tightened on the wand. “I know. But I’m here. I’m not leaving.”
That familiar gentleness, and the softness Hao said it with, broke Hanbin, the confusion in him finally relaxing a little.
Hao cleared his throat, “Now, if everyone could please focus — I think we’ve had enough excitement for one lesson.”
The laughter this time was softer.
Hanbin didn’t laugh. He stood there, his heart still racing, the truth settling into his bones.
Hao wasn’t gone. He was right here.
And Hanbin had a lot to say after class.
- - -
Hao barely had time to close the door of his office before Hanbin rounded on him.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice sharp. “Why aren’t you at the Ministry, hyung? Why am I walking into class and seeing you as my professor? How can you just show up like this and pretend everything’s normal?!”
Hao turned slowly, his heart pounding. He had expected this reaction from Hanbin, but he still wasn’t prepared to face it. Hanbin stood in the middle of the room, fists clenched at his sides, eyes shining with tears.
“Hanbin—”
“No,” Hanbin interrupted. “You don’t get to ‘Hanbin’ me right now. You told me you were leaving. You let me say goodbye to you, believing that we wouldn’t see each other for the next year, all while you knew it wasn’t real?”
Hao’s throat tightened.
“You said you were taking the Ministry offer,” Hanbin continued. “So what is this? Why are you here? Did you just… lie to me this whole time? Did you just say you would take the offer to appease me?”
The words still hurt, even if Hao knew it came from fear.
“No,” Hao said immediately, stepping forward. “I never lied to you. I would never do that.”
“Then explain,” Hanbin said, his eyes burning. “Because I spent an entire week missing you, waiting to receive any sign of life from you, something to show you didn’t forget me the moment I left your side.”
Hao exhaled slowly, the fight draining from his shoulders.
“I did tell you I was going to take the Ministry offer,” he started. “And at the time, I genuinely believed I would.”
Hanbin frowned. “At the time?”
“The Hogwarts offer came after the Ministry offer. That day you were out with Gyuvin,” Hao admitted. “After I had already told you I would go with the Ministry. After we fought about it.”
Hanbin froze.
“Hogwarts offered me an assistant teaching position. Simply for one year — so it’s temporary. They just needed me to fill in while the head professor was away.”
“And you didn’t tell me,” Hanbin swallowed, his fists unclenching.
“I couldn’t. Not yet. You were so convinced that the Ministry offer was the best option for me.”
Hao crossed the room, moving closer to Hanbin. “I already had my reply to the Ministry written out after our argument,” Hao said.
Hanbin’s breath hitched. “But you never sent it?”
“No.”
Hao looked down at his hands.
“I kept telling myself I would send it. But the days kept passing, and I felt myself growing more and more unsure of the choice I was making.”
He looked back up, right at Hanbin.
“And that was when Hogwarts wrote to me.”
“So you chose this instead,” Hanbin’s voice dropped as he realised the decision Hao made.
“Yes,” Hao said firmly. “Because I knew that if I went to the Ministry, it would be making a choice between ‘career’ and ‘love’.”
Hanbin’s eyes flickered.
“But coming here, back to Hogwarts, allowed me to choose both.”
A heavy silence settled between them as they stared into each other’s eyes.
“I never planned to lie to you,” Hao said. “I never wanted you to think I was choosing behind your back.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Hanbin demanded, his voice breaking slightly.
“Because you were already blaming yourself,” Hao said gently. “You were already convincing yourself that letting me go was the ‘right’ thing to do. That loving me meant stepping out of my way.”
“I couldn’t let you carry that,” Hao said. “I knew this was a decision I had to make on my own.”
Hao watched as Hanbin inhaled sharply, the weight of his words sinking in.
Hanbin’s jaw trembled, whispering, “I just didn’t want you to regret it, hyung.”
“And I didn’t want you to regret it too,” Hao mirrored quietly.
He hesitated before adding, “The morning the owl arrived… I asked you if you would be okay without me. Do you remember that?”
Hao exhaled slowly, his shoulders slumping as the will to fight drained out of him. “Will you be okay? Without me?”
“It’s just one year,” Hanbin replied quietly. “One year and I’ll come back to you. I’ll join you. I can handle it. ”
Hanbin nodded slowly, remembering their conversation. “You said you would be okay, and it seemed so easy for you to say.”
His voice dropped as he continued. “But right then, I knew that I wouldn’t.”
“I wouldn’t be okay without you, Hanbin.”
The confession sat in the space between them, bare and heavy.
“I tried to picture myself at the Ministry, you know. Doing work I dreamed of doing when I was a kid, having a meaningful title, above all my peers,” he said with a hollow laugh.
“And I saw myself being unbearably lonely.”
A tear escaped Hanbin’s eye, rolling down his cheek.
“So yes, Hogwarts felt like the only honest option to myself,” Hao said. “It was the option I knew I wouldn’t regret.”
He exhaled slowly. “Because I finally stopped pretending that I wanted something else, wanted more than you.”
Hanbin didn’t speak. Hao watched the emotions crash over his face — the initial anger that had shifted into disbelief and now a small sense of awe.
“And I swear,” Hao said softly, reaching a hand up to wipe the few tears that were rolling down Hanbin’s face. “I never wanted you to think you were a reason I gave the Ministry up.”
He caressed Hanbin’s cheek as he met his gaze, steady and bold. “I need you to know that this was a choice I made for myself.”
Hanbin let out a shaky breath.
For a few seconds, he didn’t move or speak. He just stood there, staring at Hao with a pure look of love on his face.
“You…” Hanbin stammered. “You gave it up.”
Hao’s brow furrowed slightly. “Hanbin—”
“The Ministry,” Hanbin said, his voice trembling again. “You gave it all up. For me.”
“No,” Hao said gently. “For us.”
And that was what finally broke Hanbin.
Hanbin’s breath hitched as a sound caught painfully in his throat, and Hao watched in pain as Hanbin’s hands came up to cover his face. His shoulders shook as the tears spilled down his cheeks freely, as if all of the emotions he had been holding onto since he left Hao at the train station burst out all at once.
“I’m so sorry, hyung. I told you to go,” Hanbin choked through his tears. “I pushed you to go. I told you I’d be okay—”
Hao closed the remaining distance between them, pulling Hanbin into his arms without hesitation. Hanbin collapsed into his chest like he had been barely able to hold himself upright, his fists gripping the back of Hao’s robes as if he was terrified Hao might disappear from his grasp again.
“It’s okay,” Hao murmured, holding him tight. “I know why you did it.”
Hanbin shook his head against Hao’s shoulder, his tears soaking Hao’s pristine robes. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just— I didn’t want you to hate me. I didn’t want you to look back one day and think of me as the person who ruined your future,” he sobbed out.
Hao pressed his cheek against Hanbin’s hair, closing his eyes.
“And I didn’t want to look back and realise I’d walked away from the person I love most just to prove something to the world,” Hao said quietly.
They stayed tangled together for a while.
Long enough for the tight knot in Hanbin’s chest to loosen just slightly, for the tremor in his hands to quiet as Hao’s presence grounded him. Hao didn’t rush him. He simply held him, one hand on his head, and the other firm around his waist.
“I thought I was doing the right thing,” Hanbin murmured eventually, his voice muffled against Hao’s neck. “Everyone always says that’s what love is, right? Letting go when you love them most. Not being selfish.”
Hao’s fingers curled a little tighter around Hanbin’s waist.
“Love isn’t about making yourself small,” he said quietly. “Or pretending something doesn’t hurt when it’s actually killing you from the inside.”
Hanbin pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were red, lashes damp, his expression soft in a way that made Hao’s chest ache.
“I didn’t want to stand in your way,” Hanbin admitted.
Hao lifted his chin gently, forcing their eyes to meet.
“Baobei. You were never in my way,” Hao affirmed. “Not once. Not ever. You never will be in my way. That’s where I want you to be.”
Hanbin’s lower lip quivered again from the firm resolution. “But the Ministry—”
“Isn’t going anywhere,” Hao finished for him. “And neither is my ability to succeed there. One year away won’t erase that. It won’t take away from any of the reasons they offered me the job in the first place.”
He brushed his thumb across Hanbin’s cheek, wiping away another tear.
“I thought I was strong enough to let you go,” Hanbin whispered.
“You were strong,” Hao replied. “Strong enough to put my future before your own happiness. But that’s not a good thing. Not when it brings you this much pain.”
They fell quiet again, both of their minds swirling with their thoughts. Hanbin leaned his forehead against Hao’s shoulder, breathing him in.
“So… you’re really here,” he said softly. “For the whole year.”
“Yes,” Hao said without hesitation. “I’m here. And I’m exactly where I want to be.”
Hanbin pulled back slightly, nodding, but Hao knew his boyfriend well. He could still see the faint hesitation in his face and the uncertainty spiralling in his eyes despite his numerous assurances.
Hao inhaled slowly.
“I don’t want a future that doesn’t have you in it,” Hao continued. “Not if I have a choice. And this—” he gestured vaguely around the office, to the castle, “—this lets me have everything that matters.”
Hanbin shook his head slowly, overwhelmed. “You’re insane.”
“Possibly,” Hao agreed. “But it’s because I love you.”
Hanbin laughed even as more tears slipped out of his eyes. “I can’t believe you. I love you too, gege.”
Hao smiled, the ache in his chest finally settling as he pressed a gentle kiss to Hanbin’s forehead, seeing the same beautiful smile echoing on his face.
“We’ll get through this year together, baobei. But for the record, don’t think I’ll let you go easy in my class,” he put on his strict professor voice again.
“Ahh hyung!!!” Hanbin whined as Hao burst into giggles, pulling him in for a real kiss.
- - -
Hao thought he knew Hogwarts.
Spending seven years within its walls should have been enough to memorise every routine, every creak of the wooden doors, every painting in the hallway. But standing at the front of a classroom changed everything. The castle moved differently when eyes followed you, when you were the one giving out knowledge instead of receiving it.
But it was Hao, so of course he adapted quickly.
Early mornings were spent reviewing lesson notes in his office while the corridors were still empty, students not awake yet. By the time students slouched into Defence Theory after lunch — their spellwork sluggish and attention wandering — Hao already knew how many demonstrations it would take to pull them out of their haze. He was still adjusting to the hush of silence that immediately followed whenever he raised his hand.
And then there was Hanbin.
Hao learned his rhythms just as carefully.
The way Hanbin lingered after his classes under the pretense of a question, his voice respectful and polite even as his eyes sparkled with mischief intent. The way his fingers brushed Hao’s sleeve in the corridors as he walked him back to his office, never lingering long enough to be seen as inappropriate.
They tried to be careful. In the first month, at least.
They were careful in the way they lingered around each other, in the way they spoke to each other when others were around. Hao always called Hanbin Mr Sung in his lessons, formal and polite, as a professor should be. Hanbin mastered the art of innocent compliance, eager to answer questions in Hao’s class with a teasing grin that suggested he enjoyed this little game far too much.
Still, Hogwarts noticed. Of course they did.
The professors noticed first.
Professor Sieun had teased them one afternoon, walking into Hao’s classroom after the lesson had ended, clearly expecting it to be empty. Instead, she found Hao at his desk, wand abandoned beside him, as Hanbin stood in front of him, far too close for something that was meant to be purely academic-related.
Her gaze flickered between them, amused and aware.
“Well,” she said, adjusting the stack of parchment in her arms, “Mr Sung, you seem to be getting an exceptional amount of personal consultations this term. I was unaware that your theory knowledge was lacking.”
Hanbin stiffened, clearing his throat.
Professor Yuna continued, a small smirk on her face. “While I admire your dedication to improving in this class, I do believe Professor Zhang deserves the occasional moment to himself. New professors must rest — especially when they’re so… attached to certain students.”
Her eyes lingered on Hao for half a second longer than necessary before she turned back towards Hanbin.
“Run along now,” she added lightly. “Before people start getting the wrong idea.”
Her mouth twitched as she left, the door clicking shut behind her. The room fell into silence.
“...She absolutely knows,” Hanbin muttered.
Hao sighed. “We were the talk of the castle last year Hanbin. Everyone knows.”
But it wasn’t just Professor Yuna who subtly acknowledged them.
Hao started realising how discreet the rest of the faculty were about him and Hanbin.
Professor Gaeun, for one, never commented on it — not directly. But on more than one occasion, when Hanbin lingered too close to Hao as they walked through the corridors, she would pass by and arch a brow. Hao used to prepare himself for a lecture or a gaze of disapproval, but he was always met with a simple smile, followed by a faint nod as she continued on her way.
Professor Siwoo had offered Hao tea one evening in the faculty office, glancing pointedly at the empty chair beside him.
“Mr Sung isn’t joining you today?” he asked curiously.
Hao nearly choked on his cup of tea.
Even Professor Minwoo — who had been the one to watch them circle around each other in his Defence Against the Dark Arts class the previous year — simply smiled one afternoon when Hanbin appeared in the faculty office with a stack of parchment for Hao, delivering it with a sheepish grin.
“Ah,” Professor Minwoo had said with a knowing smile. “How nice it is to see you two still helping each other out.”
He had left it at that. No one on the faculty ever said anything outright — there were no warnings or lectures. Just small considerations — conversations that ended whenever they noticed Hanbin lingering nearby; schedules subtly shifted so Hao’s free periods lined up with Hanbin’s; classrooms left deliberately unused after Hao’s lessons, granting them a little more time together.
There seemed to be an unspoken understanding and knowledge that Hao and Hanbin’s relationship had existed long before Hao had stepped behind a professor’s desk, and none of them were interested in stopping it.
The students, however, were far less subtle at expressing their opinions. Rumours spread like wildfire through the corridors, taking shape in hushed whispers and gasps.
“Did you hear? A seventh-year is hooking up with the new Defence Theory professor!”
“What?? Who even is the new professor, by the way? I haven’t seen them yet.”
“I heard his name’s Zhang Hao. People seem to know him?”
“...Zhang Hao? As in last year’s Ravenclaw Head Boy?? He’s a professor now??”
“...No fucking way. So the seventh-year in question is Sung Hanbin.”
Realisation spread just as quickly as the rumours had.
“Merlin’s sake, did he really come back just for Sung Hanbin?”
“Ugh, so we have to deal with their lovey-dovey nonsense for another year?”
“And Hogwarts is just… letting this happen?”
“Well it is Sung Hanbin and Zhang Hao. I would want to watch how this plays out too.”
Hao pretended not to notice the way students’ eyes tracked them when they passed each other in the halls, or the exaggerated coughing that arose whenever Hanbin answered a question too eagerly in Defence Theory.
Still, there were small, precious moments that made it all worth it.
There were late evenings that stretched gently into night, their steps instinctively leading them down to the kitchens. They would sit close together in front of the fireplace, knees brushing, shoulders pressed against one another as the house elves bustled about with knowing smiles. The elves would always prepare fresh honey butter biscuits for them, along with mugs of steaming hot cocoa. It felt achingly familiar — like slipping back into an old rhythm.
They bickered softly over who would take the last biscuit, laughter soft and unguarded, fingers brushing against each other as they reached for it at the same time. Sometimes it would dissolve into quiet smiles and shared bites. Other times, it would end in a stolen kiss, brief and tender, when the house elves weren’t looking.
And on nights when the castle seemed especially quiet, they wandered the halls together afterward, footsteps echoing faintly against stone as the few lamps flickered along the walls. Hao would catch Hanbin watching him with that same soft, awed expression he had the day he realised Hao had stayed. Like he was still trying to convince himself that Hao was truly here — that this wasn’t another dream he would wake up from, his heart aching in his absence.
And each time it happened, Hao would think to himself, ‘I made the right choice.’
- - -
Hao noticed the stares gradually.
He was used to being noticed. As Ravenclaw Head Boy, as a top student, as the whole fiasco between him and Hanbin went down. Attention had followed him through seven years at Hogwarts like a constant shadow.
But this was different.
Students lingered around him longer now.
They didn’t just ask questions — they would hover around him. They found excuses to stay after class, eyes lingering on him instead of the board. Some asked questions they already knew the answers to, intent on watching his mouth instead of listening to the words that came out of it.
Others didn’t bother pretending.
“Professor Zhang,” a Slytherin sixth-year drawled out one afternoon, leaning against a desk as she eyed him up and down. “You know, if all my classes were taught by you, I think I'd become a very dedicated student.”
Hao blinked, caught off guard by the flirtatious tone in her voice.
“I try my best to give good classes,” he replied politely. “If you have no further questions, you may go.”
She grinned, entirely unbothered. “Guess I’ll just have to come back next week, then.”
The whispers didn’t stop at one student.
“Merlin, he’s incredibly handsome, isn’t he?”
“You’re so lucky that you’re in his class. Ugh, I’m so jealous right now.”
“I swear he somehow gets prettier with every lesson.”
“I genuinely did not listen to a single word he said yesterday.”
“I don’t care that he’s taken. I can still look.”
Everyone knew he was with Hanbin, and yet, that didn’t stop the looks. Or the sly advances.
Hao didn’t think much of it at first, passing it off as silly student crushes on their professor, until he noticed Hanbin’s reaction to it all.
Hao spotted him one afternoon outside the Defence Theory classroom, leaning casually against the stone wall, clearly waiting for Hao’s class to finish so he could walk him to the offices. He seemed relaxed, until Hao saw where his gaze was fixed.
A cluster of Ravenclaw students stood nearby as Hao exited the classroom, all giggling while batting their eyes at Hao. One of them touched his arm as they said goodbye. Hao watched as Hanbin’s jaw tightened before he took his hand, leading him away.
Later that evening, Hao found him in the common corridor outside the kitchens, his mood unmistakably sour.
“I can’t believe you’re the new hot professor,” he grumbled out.
“Sorry, I’m what?” Hao tilted his head, confused.
“The New Hot Professor That Everyone Has A Crush On™,” Hanbin continued, in a deadpan tone.
“...Ah,” Hao said slowly, wondering how Hanbin was going to take this.
Hanbin scoffed. “Don’t ‘ah’ me.”
“It’s harmless,” Hao said, a smile tugging at his lips.
“It’s annoying,” Hanbin countered. “Everyone knows we’re together.”
“They do.”
“Then why are they still flirting with you?” he groaned, frustrated.
Hao thought for a moment, opting between soothing Hanbin or teasing him further. He chose the latter. “Well… I guess it’s been a while since a professor this irresistible has joined Hogwarts. It makes sense why everyone would want me, doesn’t it?”
Hanbin stared at him like he grew three heads.
“...You’re enjoying this,” he pointed out, shaking his head.
Hao smiled, softening just a little as he reached out to pinch Hanbin’s cheek. “Relax,” he said lightly. “I only pay attention to this one Hufflepuff that’s busy glaring holes into all of my students.”
“Besides, it’ll blow over soon. I’m sure of it,” Hao assured, pulling Hanbin into the kitchens.
Unfortunately for Hanbin, the crushes on Hao seemed to grow even more.
During class, students began asking Hao personal questions, all thinly veiled as academic interest.
“Professor, what’s your type? Just for research purposes.”
“Can we request a private lesson? I think I would do much better with that.”
Someone near the front tilted their head with a mischievous glint in their eye, smiling. “If you weren’t already taken, would you still choose to date another student?”
From the back of the room, Hanbin groaned audibly, muttering a few curse words loud enough for that student to hear.
Hao arched a brow, a corner of his mouth twitching as he cleared his throat. “Unless your questions relate to defensive curses,” he said smoothly, “I suggest we move on.”
Another day, Hao caught sight of Hanbin standing a little closer than necessary when a group of younger students approached him after class. Another time, Hanbin “accidentally” inserted himself between Hao and a particularly bold Hufflepuff fifth-year, smiling brightly as he said with a tight smile, “Sorry, I have a meeting with Professor Zhang to consult him on my project. Maybe you can talk to him another day?”
Hao raised a brow at him later, when the two of them were resting in his private chambers. “You’ve become territorial.”
Hanbin crossed his arms, displeasure evident on his face. “Can’t help it. You’re mine.”
Hao laughed, loving the sight of his boyfriend’s jealousy. He pulled Hanbin down into his bed with him, brushing a thumb over his rosy pink cheeks as he whispered quietly, “You know none of them matter to me.”
Hanbin sighed, leaning into his touch. “I know.”
Hao smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because I only came back for one person — you. Not any of them.”
Hanbin smiled, smug and victorious.
They drifted asleep together, tangled in each other’s arms, the quiet of the night wrapping around them like a promise.
- - -
Hanbin told himself he was being ridiculous.
He knew Hao was a great professor — kind, attentive, patient with students. He was earnest in the way he listened to the students’ troubles, in the way he was generous with his time. Hanbin loved that about him.
But that didn’t stop the dull, persistent ache of jealousy that was blooming in his chest as he watched it happen.
It started small.
Hao stayed behind after one of his classes with the lower years, walking a nervous third-year through a complicated counter-curse, his voice low and steady, eyes warm in a way that made the student visibly relax. Hanbin lingered by the door as he always did, waiting for Hao to finish as he watched the way Hao spoke to the student, encouraging and focused.
Hao didn’t look his way even once, even though he knew Hao could feel his eyes boring into his head.
Then there were the extra study sessions he was providing.
Hao leaned over desks, his sleeves rolled up, his wand tracing diagrams in the air as he explained spell theory to groups of students who looked at him with awe and utter admiration in their eyes. Hanbin sat a few rows back, chin propped on his hand, jaw tight.
He knew that look. He’d worn it himself for years. He still wore it now, even after him and Hao got together, because Hao was just that brilliant to him. But seeing it on other people felt… different.
Then came the office hours.
Hanbin passed by Hao’s office one evening and paused without meaning to, footsteps slowing as laughter drifted through the half-open door. Hao’s laugh, soft and familiar, followed by a student’s flustered apology.
“I’m sorry, Professor, I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time—”
“It’s fine,” Hao cut in gently. “That’s what I’m here for.”
Of course he was.
Hanbin exhaled sharply, walking away before he was seen. His fingers curled at his side, nails biting into his palm. It wasn’t anger — it never was. Just that same stupid ache, settling deeper into the pit of his stomach each time.
He was jealous, of course he was. Because Hao was giving so much attention to everyone else, and Hanbin couldn’t help but feel like he was being left behind, being forced to share something that had once felt entirely his.
His jealousy manifested itself in the little things.
He sat closer than usual during meals, shoulder pressed firmly into Hao’s side. His answers in class grew shorter, sharper, edged with something petty that he refused to acknowledge. His gaze lingered whenever someone laughed a little too hard at Hao’s jokes.
And yet, Hao didn’t notice a thing.
He greeted Hanbin the same way every morning, with a soft smile and a sneaky kiss when no one was looking. He brushed past him in the corridors with deliberate closeness, fingers briefly skimming Hanbin's wrist.
He listened to Hanbin’s complaints about assignments and Quidditch practice with sincere attention, asking questions and offering advice.
And then he’d turn around and do the same for everyone else.
Hanbin scowled into his textbook. He spent the rest of the day simmering in jealousy quietly. He hated that even now — when the entire population of Hogwarts knew that they were together — people still looked at Hao like he was something to want. And the attention that Hao was providing them wasn’t helping in quelling their fantasies.
He exhaled slowly, his resolve settling in beneath the jealousy.
Fine.
It was time for Hanbin to step up his game — remind the students exactly who Zhang Hao’s boyfriend was, and to get Hao’s attention singularly back on him. And there was no way he was going to be subtle about it.
If Hao’s attention was being divided, then Hanbin would simply have to make himself impossible to ignore.
He chose to start with proximity.
Every class of Hao’s ended the same way now, no matter if it was a class Hanbin was in or not. There was the scrape of chairs, the shuffle of bags, the chatter of conversations, and Sung Hanbin already waiting by the door. He wasn’t leaning against a wall further away, or pretending to look through his notes anymore. He was just standing right there, his arms crossed, posture straight, staring right at Hao.
Students slowed as they passed by him. Some nodded awkwardly, others whispered to each other. One fourth-year tripped over his own feet trying not to stare.
Hanbin didn’t move until Hao appeared right in front of him, ready to leave.
“Oh,” a student interrupted, coming into their space, clutching their parchment. “Sorry, I just had a question for Professor Zhang before you—”
Hanbin smiled.
“Go ahead,” he said. Then, after a beat, he added, “I don’t have any questions to ask. I’m just here for my boyfriend.”
The student’s eyes flickered between them. Hao, unbothered, turned to the student and answered his question swiftly. Hanbin stayed exactly where he was, a domineering presence right behind Hao.
His next plan was to engage his familiarity with Hao.
Hanbin stopped acting like a student and more like someone who was fucking the professor.
He handed Hao chalk before he requested it. He passed him notes mid-lecture without asking. He finished explanations for him when Hao paused for breath in classes.
“No, the stabilising charm only works if you anchor it to the bottom,” Hanbin said, tapping the board. “That’s what Professor Zhang advises. Isn’t that right, Professor?”
Hao stared at him, amused, but agreed nonetheless.
The praise came next. But not just normal praise, no. Hanbin decided to be loud about it. So that all the other students would hear too.
“Wow! That was a really clear explanation,” Hanbin said during class one day, his voice carrying far too well from his seat at the back. “You’re really good at teaching, ge— I mean, Professor.”
The silence that followed was immediate, every head turning to look at him with various degrees of confusion and shock — some even mild embarrassment. Hanbin simply leaned back in his chair, a smug little smile already pulling at his lips.
Hao coughed, clearly caught off guard, before quickly composing himself and clearing his throat. “Thank you, Hanbin.”
When Hao praised someone else’s spellwork in his sweet and encouraging tone, Hanbin would immediately raise his hand, casting spells with perfect incantation and execution. Reminding everyone — and even Hao — who was the top of the class, under Hao, of course.
And yet, Hao still remained infuriatingly composed. He thanked Hanbin when appropriate, corrected him when necessary, but still gave away his attention to the other students.
He knew this was Hao’s job. He knew that being a professor came with the role of taking care of students, paying extra attention to them, and letting himself be shared with people who needed him.
It wasn’t that he thought Hao was doing anything wrong.
It was that, somewhere along the way, Hanbin had let himself believe that having Hao back at Hogwarts meant having him — in the small, selfish ways that mattered to him as a lover. But instead, it felt like he was standing in the midst of a crowd, watching everyone else reach for the same thing he had.
And knowing — that Hao wouldn’t, couldn’t turn them away. That was the stem of the jealousy that twisted in his chest.
Hanbin stared at the board long after class had ended, the echoes of students’ voices fading down the corridor. His earlier plan replayed in his head — the proximity, the familiarity, the praise, all of it loud and obvious and still somehow ignored.
His jaw tightened.
If subtle reminders and petty displays couldn’t stake his claim, then he’d have to do something bigger, something undeniable. Something that would make the students stop and stare — and Hao, finally, would have no choice but to look at him.
Hanbin straightened, resolve settling heavy and certain in his chest.
If he had to be ridiculous to be seen, then so be it. He would do something they couldn’t ignore.
- - -
Hanbin stood in front of the mirror for a long while.
His dorm room was quiet, the air still. He stared at his reflection like a man preparing for battle, his jaw set, shoulders squared, and eyes filled with the grim resolve of someone about to do something deeply stupid.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered to himself.
He thought for a moment, before whispering softer, “But if this is what has to be done…”
He raised his wand, pointing it towards himself, or more specifically, his hair, as he whispered out an incantation.
POOF! His hair reshaped itself in one smooth, slightly horrifying motion — rounded and dense, curling inward at the ends with unnatural precision. It was thick, bowl-like, and voluminous in the worst way possible. A perfect, immaculate, bulbous mushroom-style haircut perched on his head.
Hanbin stared at himself in the mirror, dread filling through him.
“...Well, it certainly can’t be ignored,” he said weakly.
He turned his head side to side, watching as his mushroom hair moved as one big mass.
“This is fine. Completely fine,” he assured himself.
Now it was time to face the true test: having everyone else see his new hair too. The first casualties were his friends.
Matthew was the first one to see him as he walked to their bench in the courtyard. He opened his mouth to say hello before pausing midway, choosing to scream instead.
“What the fuck???”
Gyuvin spun around to face Hanbin, confused. “What?? What happened—” he got out before his jaw dropped open in shock. “Holy shit.”
Yujin took one look at him and shook his head in utter disappointment, as if he already sensed the reason behind Hanbin’s new hairdo.
“Hyung, you look like you lost a bet,” Gyuvin gasped out.
“You look like you lost a war,” Matthew corrected.
Hanbin crossed his arms defensively. “Actually, it’s a statement.”
“A statement of what?” Matthew giggled. “Your humiliation kink?”
“No, it’s a statement that he’s jealous. It’s to get Hao hyung to notice him,” Yujin spoke up for the first time, shrugging his shoulders.
Hanbin squinted his eyes. “…How did you know that?”
“Kinda obvious, hyung.”
“Are you serious?? You actually did this for him? Why?” Gyuvin asked.
“Uh, to bring his attention back to me? I can’t go another day watching him pay attention to every other student here and slowly forget about me. He’s my boyfriend,” Hanbin explained like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Hyung, he literally came back to Hogwarts for you. He turned down a Ministry job for you. Isn’t that enough?” Matthew asked.
Hanbin shrugged, his voice quieter now. “I just… don’t want to fade into the background. I don’t want to be forgotten.”
Matthew’s smile softened. “Hyung, Hao hyung will never forget you. We know it.”
Gyuvin sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You already know Hao hyung’s not the type to forget someone he loves, especially one he loves so deeply.”
“But since you’ve already committed to whatever this is—” Yujin gestured vaguely at Hanbin’s hair, “—you might as well see it through. I support you.”
Matthew sighed, helpless but fond. “Go do your thing. Just don’t be surprised when Hao hyung proves you wrong. But good luck facing the rest of the school! Not helping you with the avalanche that this will set off.”
As Matthew predicted, the reaction around Hogwarts was immediate and merciless. Whispers followed him everywhere.
“What the hell… What happened to Sung Hanbin?”
“Did someone curse him?”
“It seems… intentional? No fucking way.”
“Wow. He used to be hot.”
“Used to??? Excuse me, he could still pull half the school.”
“Mushroom-ass haircut.”
By lunch, it was the only thing anyone was talking about. People stopped him in the corridors, asking if he was alright or needed help. Professors did double takes as he sat in their classes. The first-years stared openly, afraid to approach him.
Hanbin endured it all, walking through the halls with a sulk carved permanently into his expression. Because somehow, every single person was talking about his new haircut except the one person he did this for.
He sat in his usual seat in Hao’s class, directly in his line of sight. He tilted his head slightly, just enough to showcase the full horror of the cut. He even shook his head once, letting the mushroom bounce.
There wasn’t a single reaction, no raised eyebrows, no hidden smile, no exasperated shake of his head — nothing. Hanbin slumped in his seat, chin in his hands, misery radiating off him in waves.
‘Why is everyone talking about it except you,’ he thought to himself, feeling as dejected as ever.
At the end of class, students filed out, whispering furiously to each other, most probably about Hanbin’s new look. Hanbin lingered behind, waiting for something from Hao.
But there was still nothing. Hao simply packed his things, humming softly to himself.
Hanbin’s eyes twitched.
He barely registered the last of the students leaving before Hao finally turned to him, sling bag over his shoulder, expression calm as ever.
“You okay, baobei?” Hao asked gently. “You’ve been very quiet today.”
Hanbin opened his mouth, unsure of what to even say, before closing it without saying a word.
Hao watched him for a moment, then smiled sweetly. “Okay then. Do you want to come back to my quarters and chill for a bit?”
Hanbin nodded stiffly, following him down the corridor, silent the whole way. Normally this was where he relaxed — kicked off his shoes, stole snacks from Hao’s cupboard, complained about his day as he sprawled across the sofa like he belonged there.
Today, he sat rigid at the small table, arms crossed, his new haircut sitting there like a blaring alarm begging someone to notice it.
Hao noticed his behaviour, of course. He always did.
He set his bag aside, rolled up his sleeves, and poured them both tea. “Alright,” he said gently, sliding a cup toward Hanbin. “Talk to me.”
Hanbin stared at him.
“You didn’t notice?” he asked flatly.
Hao tilted his head. “Notice what?”
Hanbin shot to his feet. “This??” he stressed, gesturing wildly at his head. “This situation. This disaster. This humiliation. This attempt at getting your attention, which clearly didn’t work, mind you.”
Hao’s gaze flicked up towards the round mound on Hanbin’s head.
He paused for a moment, and then smiled.
Not his usual polite, kind, professor’s smile that he gives everyone else. This was his fond, wild, and unmistakably boyfriend smile, as if he had been holding it in all day.
“Oh,” Hao said, far too casually. “That.”
Hanbin froze. “So you did notice it??”
“Of course I did,” Hao scoffed, almost like he was offended that Hanbin thought he wouldn’t notice something about him. He rose from his seat, stepping closer to Hanbin. His fingers hovered for a second before gently brushing the edge of Hanbin’s fringe. “It’s very… round.”
Hanbin’s ears burned. “Well, yes, that was the point. But wait… if you did notice it, then why didn’t you say anything?! Everyone else has been staring at me like I lost my mind!”
Hao giggled in the cute way Hanbin loved, his frustration immediately melting away at the sound of it.
“I thought you were experimenting,” he said with a barely concealed laugh. “Self-expression is very important, Hanbin. I didn’t want to make you feel bad about trying something new,” he said in a serious tone.
Hanbin let out a strangled noise at his reply. “Hyung. Are you serious? Did you really think I would do this just because I was in the mood for experimenting?”
“I think it’s cute,” Hao said, smirking. “Very dramatic. Very… you-doing-something-drastic-instead-of-actually-talking-to-me vibes.”
Hanbin froze, his entire face turning red.
“...You knew?”
Hao hummed, stepping closer until their foreheads nearly touched. “Hanbinnie,” he said fondly, pulling Hanbin’s hands to rest on his waist, “you’ve been hovering at my side like a guard dog, loudly reminding everyone that we’re dating, praising me like you’re trying to embarrass us both, and sulking every time I so much as look at another student. Of course I knew what you were trying to do.”
“I just didn’t want to stop you, you seemed so committed to getting me to pay attention to you,” he continued softly.
Hanbin deflated, looking down at the ground. “I just wanted you to notice me,” he muttered. “I thought if I did something big enough — something you couldn’t ignore — you would look at me again. I was scared that you were slipping out of my grasp.”
Hao’s expression softened instantly, cupping Hanbin’s cheeks as he tilted his face up to look at him, thumbs warm against his rosy cheeks. “Baobei, I never stopped looking at you,” he said quietly. “I just didn’t realise you thought you were losing me. Why didn’t you talk to me?”
Hanbin swallowed. “I know it’s your job, I just thought having you here meant we could be together. I didn’t think I would have to share you with every single person here,” he admitted.
“And I know how much you sacrificed just to be here. You’ve given up so much for me already, I didn’t want to keep asking you for more. So I just… tried other methods.”
Hao giggled, leaning in to press a kiss into Hanbin’s ridiculous mushroom fringe. Another softer one followed on his lips, lingering just a second longer than the last.
“You really thought you had to do this,” Hao murmured, forehead resting against Hanbin’s, “just to get me to notice you?”
Hanbin huffed weakly. “It worked on everyone else.”
“That’s because everyone else doesn’t know you the way I do,” Hao said, staring straight into Hanbin’s eyes. Then his voice dropped, taking on a more serious tone. “Hanbin, you know I didn’t come back to Hogwarts for anyone else but you.”
Hanbin’s breath hitched.
“The job, the prestige, the Ministry — you know that none of it matters more than simply being where you are. Being able to see you every day, even if it’s just in passing, that was what mattered. That’s enough for me.”
He brushed his thumb just beneath Hanbin’s eyes, as if wiping away an imaginary tear.
“You think I don’t pay attention to you?” Hao whispered. “I see you every time you sit in my line of sight on purpose. Every time you wait near my classes but pretend you’re not so you wouldn’t bother the younger students. When you linger after your own lessons with absolutely nothing to say, just so you can walk me to my office. When you bring me tea on nights I stay up too late grading, even though you say it’s just because you were already awake and making it for yourself.”
“I hear the way your voice softens when you talk to me. I see the way you watch me when you think I’m too busy with other students to notice. The way you straighten without thinking whenever I look your way. The way you still reach for me when you laugh, your eyes crinkling into crescent moons. The way you match your pace to mine unconsciously.”
He smiled, big and wide, his cheekbones rising as he recounted his memories of Hanbin.
“You’ve been choosing me in a hundred quiet ways long before you decided to be loud about it with your little plans,” he chuckled.
His voice was earnest now, steady in a way that made it impossible for Hanbin to doubt his words.
“You’ve never faded into the background, Hanbin,” Hao murmured. “You’ve always been right here — at the front of my mind and my heart.”
He took one of Hanbin’s hands away from his waist, pressing them gently over his chest as if to prove it, letting him feel his heart.
“I only have eyes for you. I always have. My heart beats for you, and you alone. You don’t have to compete with my students, or the school, or the wizarding world. I would give up all of it if it meant I could be with you.”
Hanbin’s shoulders finally sagged, the tension bleeding out of him. “You really mean that?”
Hao laughed softly, pressing his forehead to Hanbin’s thick mushroom fringe.
“Baobei,” he said fondly, “I turned down a future people dream about just to be here with you. A haircut was never going to be what finally made me look.”
Hanbin surged up, pressing his lips to Hao’s in tender desperation. When they pulled apart, Hao rested his nose against Hanbin’s.
Hanbin sagged into him, relieved. “...What do you think about the haircut, though?”
Hao snorted, his eyes bright. “Oh, I hate it.”
Hanbin groaned into his shoulder. “So, I put myself through intense humiliation from the whole school for nothing.”
Hao laughed, holding him tighter. “Well, not for nothing,” he said. “Now you know that you never have to compete for me.”
He paused before continuing.
“...We are fixing the hair though. Immediately.”
Hanbin sighed. “Yeah. That's fair.”
- - -
The mushroom hair fiasco was taken care of almost immediately. Hao’s skilled hands and a few careful charms restored Hanbin’s hair to its natural perfection during a lazy afternoon they spent cuddling in the dorms. Hanbin’s hair now fell neatly into place — a quiet, tame reminder of the chaos he had once unleashed when he was desperate for attention.
The rest of the year passed in a mix of stolen moments and quiet routines. Hanbin and Hao spent as much time together as they could — lounging in Hao’s quarters, sneaking off to the kitchens for late-night snacks, gossiping with the house elves, and occasionally terrorising the rest of Hogwarts with their PDA, unable to keep their hands off each other.
Hanbin still felt pangs of jealousy whenever Hao gave extra attention to students, but Hao was always quick to reassure him, pulling him close and reminding him why he had come back in the first place. Every gentle touch, every quiet word, every shared laugh reinforced the truth that Hanbin sometimes struggled to accept — he was never in danger of being forgotten.
Apart from that, Hanbin passed his exams with flying colours, spellwork sharp and precise, theory effortless. It wasn’t a surprise to anyone that his highest score was in Defence Theory. His final Quidditch season ended in back-to-back victories, the stands roaring his name one last time as he flew off the pitch grinning as his eyes locked onto Hao, cheering from his familiar place in the stands.
And then, suddenly, there were no more late night revisions to cram, no more matches to play, no more exams to count down to. And he was finally graduating from Hogwarts.
Graduation day was bright, crisp, and buzzing with excitement. Students and professors alike moved through the Great Hall, laughter and chatter weaving through the air. Hanbin adjusted his robes nervously, glancing around for a familiar face, his heart quietly anticipating a certain arrival.
The house banners shimmered overhead, colors spilling over the hall. Hanbin tried to memorise it all — the smell of polished wood and floating candles, the echo of voices against the ceiling, the way the lanterns swayed gently like they had seven years ago when he first stepped inside this hall for his sorting ceremony.
“Hanbinnie.”
A voice cut through his nostalgia-filled thoughts, sending him back into the present. He turned around, facing Hao who was standing a few steps away, dressed neatly with a bouquet cradled carefully in his arms, so carefully arranged and beautiful that it made Hanbin’s chest tighten. For a moment, everything else faded away — the chatter, the chaos, the weight of the day — it felt like it was just the two of them, standing in the same hall where so much of their story had taken place.
“Congratulations, baobei. You did it,” Hao said, smiling brightly.
Hanbin stared at the bouquet, consisting of blue roses and pink carnations, the same flowers that Hanbin got for Hao for his graduation.
His chest tightened. “You remembered.”
“Of course I did,” Hao giggled out. “Did you think I would forget what kind of flowers you gave me for my graduation? It only seemed appropriate to get the same ones for you.”
“Gege, you didn’t have to—” Hanbin started weakly, his voice cracking.
“I know,” Hao said with a nod, “but I wanted to. For you.”
Hanbin took the flowers, his fingers brushing Hao’s, the contact sending a spark up his arm. Around them, someone wolf-whistled while a few other students groaned in exaggerated disgust.
Hanbin laughed under his breath, his eyes never leaving Hao. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”
“Excuse me?” Hao huffed out. “As if I would ever miss my boyfriend’s graduation.”
Hanbin’s chest almost hurt with how much love his heart held for Hao.
“And besides,” Hao said, his voice dropping as he leaned in slightly, “I have another present I need to give you.”
Hanbin tilted his head. “Another present?” A slow grin spread across his face, dangerous and downright indecent. “Oh— is this the special kind of present? The kind I should unwrap in private and that involves us being locked in your quarters for the next few hours?
Hao rolled his eyes, flicking Hanbin’s forehead. “Calm down, you horny freak. Can you be serious for 5 minutes so you can actually appreciate the real present?”
“Alright, alright,” Hanbin pouted, raising a hand to rub at his forehead. “I’m just saying, it is a very symbolic day for me. I wouldn’t be opposed to an extra treat,” he added innocently.
“Sung Hanbin,” Hao warned.
“Okay, fine,” he laughed. “I’ll behave. For now. So what is this real present, then?”
Hao nodded towards the side of the hall. “Let’s go to a quieter place.”
He didn’t wait for an answer, just curled his fingers around Hanbin’s sleeve and guided him through the crowd. They slipped behind one of the tall stone pillars near the edge of the hall, the noise of the event fading into a soft, distant hum. Lantern light flickered against the stone, shadows pooling around them like a curtain.
Hao turned to face him, not saying anything for a few seconds but instead simply staring at Hanbin.
Hanbin suddenly felt exposed under that gaze — seen in the way only Hao ever saw. His styled hair, his carefully dressed robes, the tension that he was trying to hide behind a smile.
“You did so well,” Hao said quietly, breaking the silence.
The sincerity in his voice knocked the breath out from Hanbin’s lungs.
Before he could respond, Hao reached into his robe pocket, pulling out a sealed envelope. It looked like an official parchment, and Hanbin noticed the Ministry crest stamped in wax at the front of the letter.
Hanbin frowned. “What’s that?”
Hao held the letter out to Hanbin. “Open it,” he urged softly.
Hanbin shifted the bouquet into one arm, taking the letter with his other. He broke the seal, pulling out the parchment that was inside. His eyes skimmed through the first few lines, immediately widening in shock.
Bits and pieces of sentences stood out to him.
…in recognition of your exceptional performance, joint compatibility, and the documented rare phenomenon of your bonded magic…
He gasped, raising a hand to cover his mouth.
…the Ministry of Magic formally extends an offer to Sung Hanbin and Zhang Hao to enter the Auror Division as a partnered unit, to work towards becoming an Auror Pair.
He stopped reading, his hands trembling slightly as he looked back up at Hao. “Hyung… this is—” he swallowed, unable to continue.
Hao just smiled, wide and proud. “Keep reading.”
Hanbin did as Hao said, his heartbeat thudding loud in his ears.
The letter continued to mention special placement, immediate field training, and a paired appointment that was rarely granted. There were words mentioning absolute trust, synchronisation, and unprecedented magical resonance. It was clear that the Ministry didn’t just want them — they wanted them together.
He lowered the parchment slowly. “How did this— What even— You… You had something to do with this, didn’t you?” he said, the realisation landing. “The whole year… all those owls you were sending, the interviews you had, the paperwork you said was just ‘Hogwarts admin stuff.’”
Hao’s lips curved, guilty and fond. “Some of it was admin stuff.”
“Hyung,” Hanbin exhaled. “I thought you were staying. I thought you liked the position so much this year that you were going to continue teaching.”
Hao stepped closer, reaching up, his thumb brushing the edge of Hanbin’s jaw in a grounding, familiar touch.
“Hanbin,” he said softly, like he’d said a thousand times before, “how many times do I have to tell you?”
His gaze didn’t waver, staying locked onto Hanbin.
“I only came back for you.”
“Teaching here was never the end goal, no matter how much I surprisingly enjoyed it,” Hao continued quietly. “It was simply a way to be near you while you finished your time here. And now you’re done.” His smile widened, bright with something like relief. “Now we get to choose what comes next, together.”
Hanbin’s grip tightened on the letter. “And what if I say no to this offer? What if I want something else?”
“Then we’ll say no,” Hao replied instantly, his voice confident. “We find something else, somewhere else. Another country, another job. I don’t care about titles, or the Ministry, or any of it,” he said earnestly. “I care about waking up beside you. Walking in the same direction as you. Knowing that wherever we venture next, we venture side by side.”
He rested his forehead against Hanbin’s.
“I would pick that life every single time,” he whispered. “Any version of it. As long as it’s with you.”
The shock in Hanbin’s chest cracked open into something soft and full, his eyes burning with unshed tears.
“You planned our future for us,” he said weakly.
Hao laughed. “I simply drafted an option,” he corrected. “You’re still the one who decides if we take it.”
Hanbin looked down at the letter again — the Ministry seal glinted in the light from the lanterns, it shone of a future written down in careful ink. The job came with danger, prestige, and partnership — their names tied together in official script, bound for eternity.
He let out a shaky laugh. “We’d be insufferable.”
“We already are,” Hao said lightly.
Hanbin huffed, pulling Hao into a tight hug, the bouquet crushing awkwardly between them. Hao laughed into his shoulder, arms wrapping around him without question.
“Yes. I want it,” Hanbin murmured, tightening his grip on Hao’s waist. “I want all of it, only with you.”
“Good,” Hao whispered back, “because I already told them you’d say yes.”
Hanbin jerked back. “You what—?”
Hao gave him a smug smile in return. “I know you, don’t I?”
Hanbin stared at him for two seconds before breaking into helpless laughter, dragging him back into his hold and leaning in for a kiss. “Unbelieveable,” he muttered between pecks. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Happy graduation,” Hao said, giggling through the kisses.
Hanbin looked at the letter one more time, then at Hao, at the familiar warmth in his eyes — the same look that had followed him through classrooms and corridors and every quiet moment shared in between.
And for the first time since the year started, the future didn’t feel like something rushing towards him.
It felt secure, like it was there waiting for him.
And Hao was already standing in it, holding the door open for him to enter at his own pace.